


Sun Sets Low

by scy



Category: Supernatural/Angel the series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 14:42:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scy/pseuds/scy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lindsey happens to find himself getting involved with something of a supernatural nature, and encounters an expert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sun Sets Low

**Author's Note:**

> I told Lar that I wanted to write Lindsey/Dean for her, and asked what she wanted. This is what she said: 'Mmmmm, Lindsey/Dean. I'd love to see some banter while tacking down something together. Doesn't matter if they catch it or not. Post-hunt patching up of injures always a plus, though not in a "woobie" way. *bounces*.' I would be negligent if I forget to thank lattara for her commentary and poking through the course of this story, her feedback was invaluable. *mwah*.

Having nothing more than his truck and a cache of money the firm hadn't cared enough about to touch wasn't how Lindsey had envisioned taking a long-postponed holiday from the petty crap that passed for boardroom politics, but it was a necessary departure from what no longer mattered.

His route out of LA was a series of traffic stops, unsmiling cops, and curses at a vampire's sense of humor. After the first week though, when these tapered off, and as the nights stopped even hinting at warm air, he began to feel the absence of things. It wasn't an unpleasant sensation at first; he hadn't been on his own for awhile, even at his apartment there had been monitoring of some sort or another, but the it was jarring against what he had grown accustomed to.

Someone less self-aware could have made the experience into a journey; an opportunity for introspection and possibly even found the opportunity to renew his faith. But Lindsey was not that man, and he knew pretending to be could only get him into another building of offices where acting crazy made sense. He'd been through that once, and he wasn't interested in taking the same route when he already knew where he'd end up. Yet although he was sure of what he didn't plan on going back to, his ideas on his next step weren't clear. For the moment, his hopes rested on the assumption that he would be able to keep driving the roads until he figured things out.

While in the long-term it hadn't been in his best interests to remain at the firm, it had been educational. He now knew just how much of a routine he could stand before he was fed up and needed to find something new. That didn't explain why he was in a bar that could have been out of his hometown, drinking alone, watching the scenery. He settled for telling himself that there wasn't much else; no matter what part of the country he was in, there were only so many ways to spend down-time. Of the usual choices, he didn't care much for the effort it would take to remake himself as Mr. McDonald and get into that mindset. He could use the skills he'd picked up, it just wasn't his first instinct anymore. It still surprised him though, when he leaned back on a bar stool and heard it creak with stress and felt the rough edges of a rip catch on his jeans as he moved. If this wasn't his hometown, there were enough similarities for him to put a few scuffs on the floor and leave a watermark on the bar while he took in his surroundings.

He watched a couple of women sitting together at the bar. They were drunk and laughing in that way that made the men check them out automatically. Hazy eyes and arms draped around each other they were practically cuddling on the bar stool and they giggled when it couldn't hold both of them. The brunette murmured something to her companion and when she tossed her head back, the wave of blonde hair falling away from her pale through made Lindsey shift uncomfortably. He was miles away from Angels family, and he still had to look twice at every woman with Darla's laugh.

He wasn't the only one considering the pair; a group of guys at the jukebox had been staring openly and as the blonde fumbled in her wallet to pay the tab, the leader straightened up from the wall. Lindsey had seen a few scenes like this play out to the worst conclusion both in the theater and first hand, and the only question was whether or not he was going to play a part. He'd been told by several mental health experts that he had something of a white knight complex. Lilah had no qualms about calling him on it whenever she thought he was acting especially chivalrous. He'd never bothered to look at her and see if she needed saving. Anyone who allowed themselves to be recruited and bought into the whole ideal of an evil law firm who thought they could run the world if they greased the wheels with blood and greed was already in it too deep to be pulled free without dragging someone else down as well.

Still arguing with himself about whether he had the money to pay for a trip to the ER, he pushed off from his seat and followed them outside. He wasn't carrying a gun, didn't even really care for the advantage it would've give him this time, but he had that tingling in his fingers again and needed to let it out on something.

Outside, the apparent top dog had taken charge of sweet talking the girls, but they weren't so drunk that they didn't distrust a liar. He and his buddies had spread out, blocking any escape, and the blonde was shifting nervously. When the man reached out and actually touched the blonde's arm she pulled back. Her friend was the one to step into the guy's space to warn him off, so he grabbed her first, but this time he was serious, his voice rough and unpleasant.

Forgoing the obvious heroic rationale for involving himself, Lindsey chose not to claim any greater cause as being served and merely stepped in.

Fighting was easy; he'd done it for a living, twisting words, putting emphasis on doubts and suspicion, shepherding clients with his words until the walked free. But he'd never been limited to words, and his body had always served as his first weapon and it felt good to be using it again. He got in a couple hits by making a surprise entrance, and then they caught on. It was better when he had something to push against that didn't second-guess him and ask the questions he didn't know the answers to.

Being a stranger was an ideal way of getting into a fight; there would be nobody hanging around to make peace and he could leave town immediately afterwards.

One of the women yelled, but Lindsey didn't pause. One against four weren't the best odds, but those were what he was used to.

When the two guys identical in build and fighting styles tried to pin him between a dumpster and wall, Lindsey briefly considered the merits of teamwork. Then he applied force, got free, and knocked them into the nearest hard surfaces. Apparently even two reasonably agile men did not come close to having the reflexes of someone who'd been knocked around by a vampire with unresolved anger issues. Lindsey stepped over them to face the last couple of guys. They'd been hanging back like it was alright to take turns instead of being serious and finishing the fight. Prolonging a struggle was only effective when the outcome could be guaranteed, and as Lindsey went up against these guys, he knew that they weren't sure what was going to happen.

As he flexed his fingers, feeling the bruises forming, he turned his head and spat. Meeting the eyes of the men debating whether or not to try and get a couple last punches in, he grinned. "Should know better than to mistreat a lady, it forces a gentleman to intervene."

He went through the business of making himself known to the local law enforcement and left town as a good guy just passing through. Not certain how he felt about the new persona, he was treated, and stowed that identity away for future use. Although he could have stayed, made more friends, it wasn't what he was looking for and so he moved on.

It had been drilled into him that if he didn't go after what he wanted, it wouldn't simply show up when he wasn't looking. That may have worked in the corporate setting, but the world didn't run on timesheets, despite what the firm liked to think, and by the end of the first month on the road, Lindsey wasn't any closer to finding what he wanted. First he felt disappointed and then his pride stung like peroxide poured over a cut and he bought a map. With each town and stop he made, he marked it on the mass of squiggling lines ad carefully plotted icons.

Briefly he considered searching out a psychic or someone who knew how to dabble safely in prophecy if just so he had a clue about what direction he should be going in, but he dismissed the idea. Asking anyone with real power a question like that would be like sending up a flare that would be seen by exactly who he was trying to avoid, and for the moment he wasn't desperate, only frustrated. Besides, he thought it'd be really stupid to tempt Wolfram and Hart to send something his way. After ten hours in his truck, he groaned and shuffled like an old man and he was too tired to properly secure his room for the night. Should the order be sent out, he wasn't ready to deal with it and so he learned how to hide without actually changing his name.

He chose motels built right on the freeway, never mind how rundown they were. There hadn't been any signs of pursuit, but to have the promise of endless highway edging off into the distance was better than knowing a door had a working deadbolt. It got so that he scanned a town before committing to stopping for the night, and if he didn't like the layout of the place, he'd move on, sleep on the side of the road.

With each mile and state border, he felt as though he was winding around on himself but not really going forward. It was as though Wolfram and Hart had a hold of him somehow and that they were tugging on what they'd claimed, sure that he'd eventually give in and return. At first he'd thought that the Senior Partners were determined to bring him back at any cost, and then he realized that the only cost that counted would be the one he paid.

Aware of what he already owed, Lindsey put that out of his mind as best he knew how, but even so, on the road, there was time to look back and then too many chances to reconsider leaving. L.A. had long since ceased being even a sprinkle of lights on the horizon but it still loomed uncomfortably over Lindsey's thoughts.

Sometimes Lindsey turned the radio up so loud that he couldn't think about where he'd been just to keep himself from turning around to see if going back would be more interesting. Even twisting and stretching to relieve the knots in his back didn't feel enough like working out the aches of an evening spent dealing with Angel. There was no similar rush in long-distance driving, and the itch in his fingers was out of sync with every tape he put on.

The cassette player alternately whirred and hissed as if timed to his mood, and there came a time when he had to turn it off or punch the dashboard to make it stop. He'd only played at being in control of events, and now even that wasn't an option.

Out of a need to focus on anything unrelated to what he was used to, he began reading the local newspaper in each town he stopped in. There weren't as many places to hide the more peculiar events in such a small publication and Lindsey found himself seeking those out and idly wondering what was being done about this sort of thing in places where people didn't have a group of heroes who advertised in the Yellow Pages. He had no particular investment in what other people did in order to protect themselves, but he was more than vaguely interested and so he put notes on his map each time he saw something that went outside the boundaries of merely disrupting law and order.

A lot of the incidents were unremarkable; teenagers caught in condemned building saw things that scared them, couples were out too late, and the occasional lone thrill-seeker. So long as it wasn't too spectacular, the story usually got relegated to a second-page story. However these events got handled depended on the town, but most of ten there was question left at the end of the investigation. That nobody seemed to want to ask what had really happened was typical and just what Lindsey expected when people didn't know what to do and needed to move on.

While he might not know all the details in every case, he could guess enough that even in towns where he thought he might have found something he had been missing too long to realize it, he couldn't stay. The truth was a restlessness that woke him up at night and made him check the rear-view mirror even after he'd left all the other cars miles behind him.

He wasn't normally at loose ends; even when the work let up so that he could take a look around, he hadn't wanted to take the opportunity. His priorities ran to getting ahead of everyone else. Now he was trying to run again, but this time there were no promotions or bonuses waiting at the end.

What he hadn't forgotten about small towns made it easy to move around in them, and where memory failed, upbringing took over. Not everybody was able to let their history take over and move them under people's radar. They were locked in what they'd learned how to be and maybe didn't want to go back, even it would serve the moment. But then there were individuals who knew how to take what they learned and applied it as needed.

In the business world, such an ability was termed 'instinct,' and anyone who knew how to read the signs was considered well-rounded. Lindsey thought it was a useful tool as well as a way to make crowd-watching more interesting. He found someone worth watching once in awhile and made the most of the opportunity out of the times he paid attention, he stopped three lovers' quarrels, talked down a couple drunks, and added notches to his belt for each fight in which he guest-spotted. While it wouldn't count as high entertainment it kept him alert and ready for his surroundings to become hostile.

He did the same thing on the road, the lonely open spaces could get to a person, but they weren't actually empty. Anyone out there on those long distances was being watched from beyond the sporadic lighting of the freeway, and even before they got past the cities and the glare, one could make out eyes glowing when they slowed down to read signs. It was best not to get out; no reason to invite trouble. The thing was though, that sometimes trouble came along without any regard for whether or not it was wanted.

\-----

Lindsey had stopped in the town when his truck finally coughed alarmingly in a way that meant he needed to get it looked at before it stopped running completely. He'd rolled to a stop and found a local garage with a mechanic who knew what he was doing and didn't overcharge non-locals.

It helped that Lindsey's drawl and scuffed boots were part of the dress code and that he didn't pull an uppity attitude and try to lord it over the man. Bill Mosley, owner of the garage apologized for having to dig around for the parts, offered to call a buddy who was connected and then gave Lindsey the address of a motel in the area as well as the only restaurant and insisted that Lindsey mention his name and get a full meal.

The motel wasn't fancy or special, but it did have a manager who believed in at least more than nominal maintenance, and who didn't object to anyone who took care of problems on their own. From there, Lindsey was free to do what he wanted for a couple days while his truck was being seen to with both hand and wrench.

Somehow when he set himself down in one place for longer than a day or two, a specific type of stranger sought him out. Their reasons and problems varied slightly with the area, but each of them saw Lindsey and thought that he could offer them some sort of help. This time, they let him get comfortable and picked up his routine before approaching him.

Lindsey had gone down the street to the diner, where he ordered coffee and eggs and skimmed the headlines. After three days in the same seat, the waitress, Mona had already picked out a muffin and set it by Lindsey's elbow. He hadn't asked for one and she wouldn't let him pay for it; she was in her fifties, worn in the eyes, but her uniform was clean and pressed to shame a big time dry cleaner, and she thought that he needed to have someone look after him.

"Blueberry again today, hon." She sounded as though she was apologizing, so Lindsey glanced up and smiled.

"I like blueberry, Mona." He saw himself reflected in her glasses the same way almost everyone else saw him; a haphazard mesh of what people saw in him and what he thought they wanted him to be.

She shook her head. "Third time this week, you'd have to." Patting him on the shoulder, she moved on toward the trio of kids sitting in the booth by the door. They were whispering and laughing just on the edge of being too loud, and Mona shushed them as she took their orders.

Tipping his cup back, Lindsey saw the only boy in the group staring at him and quickly turning around when he realized he'd been caught. He said something to the two, they stopped giggling for a moment, and then let out shrieks that they muffled hastily. The three of them might have been legally able to drink and have been going to college parties for a few years, but that was a generous estimate. That carefree attitude had been a fleeting thing in his experience, during school his mindset had tended more toward driven.

The girls, both brunettes, leaned into each other's space and pulled one another up until they were standing. Reaching out, both girls pulled their companion to his feet. He stumbled deliberately and they let him go so that he had to catch himself at the last second. It was taken as a joke and he swiped playfully at them. Dropping their bill and cash on the table, the three of them made their exit.

Mona stopped at Lindsey's elbow and bent forward to refill his cup.

"College kids," she commented.

"They from around here?"

"On vacation, seeing the sights and having a good time."

"You have any problems?"

"With the college crowds? A few rowdy troublemakers, but for the most part they're all good kids." Her expression was indulgent. "You're not all that much older than them, sweetie."

Lindsey brushed his hair out of his eyes and let Mona snort at him. "What can I say?"

"Nothing. Drink your coffee. Oh, and Bill said that he's nearly done with your truck."

"Thanks, Mona, I'll stop by later on."

"Take your time, Bill never gets to a job earlier than noon on a Friday."

"Got it."

Life moved at a less hurried pace outside big cities, and so Lindsey didn't make an effort to hurry to finish his meal. He left Mona the extra dollars that she wouldn't accept if he gave it to her outright slipped between the register and the counter and nodded to her and the cook as he headed out.

Mona was right; Bill had another marginally productive day, and they spent more time in a chair outside in the sun than he did inside the garage.

Despite the delay, Lindsey found that it wasn't a bad way to pass the time. That evening he went to the outskirts of town and plotted the next stop once he was back on the road. He was kicking his heels against the back of a dumpster when the trio from the diner drove by with their windows down. He didn't recognize the music that was pounding out of the car, but it drowned out their conversation and sent him in search of a quieter spot for relaxing.

He was back in the diner that evening Mona providing constant supply of coffee. The town's residents wandered in for the special, sheriff and his deputy taking seats next to Lindsey and exchanging what he too to the usual series of insults. Everyone was sitting back and perusing the dessert list when the door banged open.

The figure tripped over the welcome mat, caught himself on the back of a booth and looked around at his audience. It was the male member of the threesome from earlier, but his mood was dramatically different. His breath sobbed in and out loudly as he tried to get a word out. When he was able to speak, he didn't make much sense, but did plead for help.

"They're gone, please, I don't-"

Predictably the sheriff assumed a paternal posture and helped the boy to a chair. "Slow down, son, tell us what's going on."

Lindsey listened to the conversation and watched as everyone gathered around and generally made the boy feel smothered and worsened the situation. Nobody noticed that he was paying undue attention to what was going on; in the last few days he'd hung back and been lumped in with so many things that it was a wonder anyone knew his name.

Lindsey saw that the kids hands, trembling in his lap were covered in blood. He could already guess how this would play out; there would be some effort made to find the girls, but if nothing else turned up, then there was only one possible suspect. Unless he came up with a neat and reasonable explanation, the odd man out was in a lot of trouble. None of which meant all that much to Lindsey; he paid his bill and nodded to Mona on his way outside. While some might have accused him of being selfish and mercenary, he counted the fact that he'd made it quite a distance by keeping himself in mind as making his opinion the one that mattered.

Bill took another couple days to fix Lindsey's truck, and in that time state troopers descended on the area along with more reporters than there were citizens. It was noisy, chaotic, and none of what Lindsey wanted to be involved in. But being interested in staying out of things didn't meant he wasn't curious, and before leaving town, he rolled the past few days' worth of papers up in a bundle and dropped them on the passenger seat. The headlines got progressively accusatory with each day, and nobody had only found the most suggestive evidence that the girls had been taken.

The specifics had been left out of the press conferences, but rumors placed bloody clothes and signs of a struggle at the scene. The only witness swore that something had come out of the darkness and taken the girls and that he and the other girl had tried to fight it off. In the confusion, the second girl had been taken as well and the boy had gotten some scratches and a concussion.

From the tone of the authorities' statements to the press, the one person to survive was, as Lindsey had suspected, under close scrutiny and would likely be prosecuted. About the time that official charges were filed, the story dropped out of the papers and was largely forgotten, except by anyone who'd seen those kids together. Something had happened to them after the sun went down that night, but Lindsey knew instinctively that it hadn't been a fight between friends or anything so mundane. Yet, without proof that could stand up to conventional investigation, the survivors of such things were often left to take the blame.

As someone who'd been in a perfect position to be the weakest and most disposable member of a team after he'd made the wrong move and it hadn't gone unnoticed, Lindsey hadn't thought he'd make it out of that wine cellar. But his colleagues weren't his friends or anyone he cared more about than himself, and so he'd gotten answers that weren't exactly satisfying and moved on. This kid on the other hand, didn't know what had happened or knew, and couldn't find anyone to believe him. He would have to find his own means of living with what he'd seen. If he was lucky he wouldn't be left feeling as though he was looking, but in all the wrong places

Other than idly wondering whether the kid had made peace wit himself, Lindsey put the whole affair out of his mind. Then there was another small town and a second group of kids just having fun who came to a bad end. In this case, none of them made it back to tell anyone what they'd seen. All that was left of a college road-trip that had taken an unexpected turn for the worse was a the car they'd been driving, smeared with blood, and the eyewitness accounts of how nice the kids had seemed before they mysteriously vanished.

Even though he'd told himself he wouldn't do more than read any articles whose headlines caught his eye, Lindsey went beyond that. He stopped in Montana, got directions to the regional library, and set about trying to find the bigger picture out of each disappearance.

They went back several years, and occurred during the same time, always no less than three kids were involved, and only one or two had lived to tell anyone their side of it.

The whole thing was way past what he knew how to deal with, and it almost made him think about picking up a phone and dialing information for Angel: Investigation's number. The last thing he wanted was to bring them in, but he didn't have the resources to do more than track whatever this was, and he certainly couldn't stop it alone. That left him in a bit of a bind; because from what he'd seen, heroism and blind faith only led to grand and destructive gestures, neither or which were his style or best interest.

In the middle of a library in a town where he didn't know anybody with real influence, he wasn't even sure where to begin looking or why it suddenly mattered that he tried. What he couldn't shake was the sensation of knowing that there was going to be another disappearance; it reminded him of listening to coworkers plan the disposal of inconvenient witnesses. In this instance though, he wasn't willing to overlook the obvious.

Taking into account all the variables he was aware of, he still didn't know how to put them together into something he could handle.

Leaning back in his chair, Lindsey stared upward, hoping that the uniform blankness of particle board would yield inspiration. He counted nearly one hundred imperfections and came to the conclusion that he was going to have to do some footwork.

In order to find the thing that was grabbing people out of a good time into unpleasant territory, he'd have to figure out where it was going to take them from next.

As he began asking questions there were rumors that the government had been investigating, the serial killer angle, but hearsay claimed that the whole thing was largely considered a cult thing and that the kids may have gone of their own free will. Then there were suggestions that cougar attacks were escalating, never mind whether or not the attacks were exactly in big cat hunting ranges. A predator such as this one with a steadily growing reputation was frightening enough that people were looking for the easiest answer.

All it meant to Lindsey was that nobody really knew what had happened or what he should look for. It was possible that Lindsey had stepped past being watchful and gone right into paranoid, but he wasn't going to give it up simply because he was more jumpy. At least at present, danger wasn't usually anything but over, and it rarely occurred to anyone try and play mind games with the new guy in town. When they did try to rile him up with slurs against his family, education, and his singing, Lindsey responded in whichever way would give him the information he needed and headed onto the next stop. As he compiled theories and tips, he scribbled them down in order to stay organized and to try and separate fact from gossip.

Common factors: All missing persons were college age kids on road trips during spring/summer breaks. Went missing from Interstate

Number of (known) disappearances: 10.

Means: Unknown.

Reason: Unknown.

Possible culprits: animal, human, other. It was the last candidate was the one that caused him the most concern.

\---------------

There were the customary mix of agencies represented in the suits that took a similar tack as Lindsey in their search, but very few of them stood out.

On the off chance that anyone happened to notice he was asking questions, Lindsey didn't try and pose as anyone with a badge and unlimited access. Matters were less complicated when an ordinary guy was informally asking about the disappearances. At some point it was implied that he was a private detective hired by one of the families. That was a useful excuse, and one he sued for several hundred miles.

Chance encounters with the law were understandable, but after seeing a particularly bemused expression on the faces of bystanders after the fact, he began to wonder who else was trying to find this creature. He made an effort to pick the faces out from the masses, realizing that he might not be alone on the trail.

The last definite lead he had was that whatever it was took the kids off the road. The cars were left, keys in the ignition as if they'd gotten out to take a photograph and had wandered off. In his mind, this was a hunter that liked a specific area as well as a certain sort of prey.

That meant he needed to familiarize himself with the area, so he drove the highway in the hope that he'd happen upon what he was looking for. By this time he was staying far enough away from cities that the only option at night was to pull over and hunker down in his truck.

The nights got steadily warmer as summer approached and he spent a good amount of time in the truck bed. Animals moved in the woods or on the plains and some of them crossed the road on either side of him. He got to know the sounds each one made and would have been able to identify one that was out of place.

The very next rest stop had a bulletin board and a stand that sold coffee and fresh fruit all day for the truckers who gathered there. Judging from the enthusiastic way everyone was going out their caffeine consumption, Lindsey guessed that there wasn't anything else available for a few hundred miles and that most of them would be heading out pretty soon.

Climbing out of his truck, Lindsey saw the usual variety in freight-haulers and a surprise; among the semi-trucks that crowded the lot, a black Impala stood out authoritatively.

It was out of place in this setting, and yet was being ignored by the regulars. That, combined wit the way they were huddled together to read the leaflets posted made him curious about what was going on.

Walking past the long black care, he admired its lines and the obvious care someone had taken in restoring it. Whatever the owner did for a living, they spent most of their time on the road.

He heard fragments of what the men were saying between bites of apple and sips out of their Styrofoam cups.

"Something's been out on the roads at night."

"-Seen it?"

"Not me, but-"

"How do you know it's not just a bad dream?"

"-Been in that cheap whiskey your cousin sells?"

"I didn't make it up. Barry was on the Midwest run last month, and he told me what he saw."

"And he's an expert."

"He doesn't make up stories and brag about things he hasn't done."

"Neither do I."

"That's not what Helen says."

"When did you talk to her?"

"She's not talking to you, so why does it matter?"

Lindsey moved on; the arguing pair looked to be settling into what was clearly an old fight, and there weren't any new elements despite what was happening around them.

He was more interested in finding out what, if anything had been seen in the area, and whether the odd man out was involved somehow. Two strangers lingering among this sort of group wasn't likely to happen by chance.

Although most of the drivers were in their thirties or forties, Lindsey had to look closely in order to locate the one who didn't belong.

Seated on one of the beaches was a man eating and drinking like everyone else, but he was younger, lacked a baseball cap, and showed no sign of being concerned with making a delivery on time.

Approaching the man, Lindsey saw that he wasn't going to extremes to get in on the truckers' conversations, but he'd chosen a position that let him listen to what they were saying without being overtly nosy. That was sneaky enough to give him a little credit, and made him more than just another bystander.

Taking a wide path around the rowdiest guys, Lindsey gave the other outsider an opportunity to cut and run if he was trying to stay anonymous, and then came up behind him. There wasn't any tension in his body, but Lindsey hadn't been the only one watching the crowd, and if this kid knew how to take care of himself, then he'd have noticed Lindsey already. Swinging his legs over, Lindsey took a seat. He didn't look over to see how his presence was received but waited for what would be given away.

Still listening to the anecdotes and tall tales being exchanged, the kid seemed too absorbed to acknowledge someone who wasn't actively contributing.

When it appeared that the gathering was winding down and man began returning to their trucks, the two of them were left to take each other's measure. Already sure that he'd been lumped into a category with as yet unnecessary details, Lindsey hadn't gotten enough information to decide where this guy was coming from. He'd made his living intimidating, warping, and redressing the truth and only needed a couple minutes to have the outline of a person's perspective.

"It's nice the way they stock these places," he commented idly. "Especially if you've been on the road all night."

The guy didn't turn his head, but he answered, "Yeah, it's good to take a break."

Sometimes being blunt was the best way to eliminate most of the unknowns and Lindsey wasn't that invested in diplomacy lately, so he tried it. "Is that what you're doing?"

That got the guy's spine a little straighter, as if he'd been dismissing Lindsey and now wasn't certain that was a good idea. "Might be."

Lindsey wanted to laugh; the kid's body language was all about not messing with him, but his clothes and cropped dark hair labeled him as a military brat who'd stepped out the door and was too proud to go home. None of that was intimidating to Lindsey, the posturing amused him, but he didn't take any facade seriously, no matter how well it was sold.

Unlike everyone else, this one wasn't being shy about pouring a little kick of something into his drink and from the looks of it, he'd been at it for awhile. His body had that looseness that usually equaled inebriation and Lindsey he could see that his eyes were clouded. He looked young, harmless, a little roughened by life, but still ready to fall for the next scam. Unlike most people though, Lindsey didn't let a first impression put him at ease; he'd grown up playing at being simple, and he knew the signs. Still, this guy was good at the game; Lindsey could smell the warm bite of liquor around him and watched him reach with exaggerated care to adjust the way his collar rubbed at his neck, but his fingers only slid to sell the disguise. Whether he was staying out of the way because he needed to avoid someone, or was genuinely interested in being taken at face value, Lindsey couldn't say.

"They say anything worthwhile?"

"What're you, a reporter?"

"Specializing in rural news. So, what did you hear?"

"Nothing that would make the front page." Lindsey motioned for him to go ahead and share and he continued. "It might storm this week, gas prices are going up again, and a couple truckers saw some animals around an abandoned car a ways down the highway." He added the last as if it was simply another piece of news, nothing more, but he had to know Lindsey was waiting to hear it.

"Could be worth a look," Lindsey said, not glancing sideways at him.

"Doesn't look like you brought your camera with you."

"I travel light." Getting to his feet, Lindsey surveyed the parking lot to delay the moment, letting the idea of checking out what had happened rest in his mouth and then held it back until he knew the kid knew what he could say. He didn't share where he was going; that was easy to figure out, the only unknown was whether he'd meet the other guy at the scene later, and he didn't look back to spoil the surprise.

\---------------

Since he didn't know precisely where the deserted car was, or even if it was related to the missing college kids, Lindsey took his time getting there.

The vehicle was pulled off the road as if its owners had been getting a little exercise and forgotten where their car was. The scene was disquietingly similar to the previous ones, and Lindsey parked his truck

He wasn't waiting for the kid to show up, but he'd gotten enough of a sense of him to know that he had more than a little interest in what was going on. There wasn't a doubt in Lindsey's mind that he'd show up, the only variable was how long it would take.

As it turned out, the guy wasn't in such a hurry that he tail-gated Lindsey, in fact a half hour had elapsed before the black car rolled to a stop behind Lindsey's truck.

Lindsey had been scrutinizing the dirt around the car when he heard the engine rumbling and a several moments later, gravel crunched behind him.

"Find anything?"

"Nah. Looks like they just hopped out and never came back." He glanced to the side. "Could be the car broke down and they caught a ride."

The suggestion wasn't a bad one, but the dried blood on a rock and the droplets leading off in the opposite direction of civilization pretty much made it extremely unlikely. He hadn't had time to put on a mask that would have made it easy to trust him, and so the kid had gotten a brief, but fairly honest look at who Lindsey McDonald really was. He wasn't off-balance in any way that Lindsey could see, so he didn't figure it needed discussion.

"I don't think so," he disagreed, much too assured for anyone of twenty-some years who was claiming to be a civilian. Crouched down next to the same evidence Lindsey had discovered, the kid seemed to have found something of meaning.

One way to get information was by revealing a greater knowledge than assumptions gave him credit for, and so Lindsey stood close and scrutinized what he thought could be tracks, or just disturbed soil.

"So what was it, a werewolf, vampire?"

Again, this guy wasn't easily ruffled, and so he only tilted his head to examine the dirt from another angle. "Nah. See there, and over there?" He indicated two patches of ground that looked exactly the same to Lindsey's eyes.

"Sure," he said gamely.

"Not enough of a print to really make out, but those rocks over there are scored. Something took a chunk out of one of them."

"What could do that?" Now that Lindsey had looked a second time, he saw several deep marks in one of the boulders that were easy to mistake for the damage of seasons, until one saw how neat and regular they were, like something had reached out and scratched it. Lindsey hesitated to follow that unlikely line of reasoning, but had to admit it made the most sense.

"Dragon, maybe."

"What?"

"You know, big lizard, flies, breathes fire."

"A dragon has been dragging kids out of their cars and carrying them off?"

"No, they've been getting out to take a good look at the shape off in the distance that kind of looks like a dinosaur. Typical."

"And how do you kill a dragon?"

"Usually they just come out every few centuries, do a little damage, and then go back underground and hibernate."

"What about the kids?"

"A couple of them might still be alive, but dragons get pretty hungry, so anyone who caught a ride is probably dead." He sounded detached, as if he'd been watching a program about medieval monsters on the History Channel and didn't think it was odd to encounter one in the present day.

"You didn't answer my question; how does one kill a giant flying snake?"

"They're not really snakes."

"Are you a herpetologist or something? I don't care what species they belong to, I just want to know if it's possible to dispose of one."

"It's messy. You've gotta find their den, and that takes some doing. Then you have to seal it up and dynamite it." He stood up and brushed his hands off on his jeans.

"And then what?"

"Then you just hope that you killed the bastard, because if you haven't, it's probably really pissed off."

"You have experience with this sort of thing?"

"Some."

"Are you planning on going after it?"

"See, this one's been doing this every couple decades. It's almost finished for the season and then it goes to ground again. If anyone's going to have a chance on catching it, now's the best time."

"Need help?"

"You've got an interest in dragons?"

"It's not like there's anything better to do, and you said that there's a chance of catching it."

"Small chance, these things move fast." He glanced over his shoulder at Lindsey's truck. "And I don't see that heap topping sixty without giving up."

Anyone who talked that way about another man's truck was either trying to get into a fight, or had their own ride and could back up the insults with speed. Judging from the way the kid was smirking at him, he knew that and not only took care of the sleek black car he'd driven up in, but had guessed how long Lindsey had held onto his truck.

"Your ride looks like it could manage the trip."

"That's right."

Lindsey cast his eyes to the car again and then back to the kid. "What's your name?" He didn't add 'junior,' but from the look he got, it was heavily implied.

"Winchester. Dean, Winchester." The fuzziness to his speech was out of the Midwest, not enough to twang like a plucked guitar string, but heavy

"Lindsey McDonald." Before he even made the offer, Lindsey had weighed the possible consequences, and evaluated the other man with all the training he'd once used on witnesses and concluded that he had one of several reasons for knowing about what was out there in the dark. Most of the time, people didn't wind up in this business unless it ran in the family, or they'd gone into it after big game hunting lost its romance. The last choice was overconfident kid who'd gotten lucky a few times but was liable to get bitten sooner or later. Winchester didn't fit neatly into any of the neat cut-outs Lindsey tried to match him with, but he seemed to know enough to be worth listening to until a better idea came along, and that made Lindsey's mind up. "If we're gonna do this thing then I need to store my truck someplace safe. I bet you know a guy."

"I do, and he only charges by the month." Another smile, like he was getting a cut of whatever storage would cost.

"Is it far?"

"An hour or so."

"I'll follow you."

Winchester nodded and they headed back to their respective vehicles. Lindsey followed Winchester at what only a few people would call a reasonable speed.

As friends went, Tomkins, the guy with the space to park trucks seemed to have both the necessary connections and the personality to manage such an operation.

Tomkins and Winchester conducted the business of negotiating a fee by using a code that only worked between longtime business acquaintances. From Lindsey's point of view, it looked like a combination of verbal shorthand and coded gestures. After a few minutes, Winchester turned around with a grin and Lindsey sighed, digging out his wallet to pay the 'sitter.

From there it was a matter of hauling his bags out of the truck bed and dropping them, as Winchester directed, into the trunk of the Impala. He added his guitar case and was glad all over again that he'd thought to hold onto his Daddy's shotgun, even after the bank had come calling. It was one of the few things he'd been able to salvage and hide as the elder McDonald's impulses had left empty bottles over the entire house and anything that wasn't bolted down got sold to further intoxication. What Lindsey had hoarded hadn't been enough to give his siblings the help they needed, but it had been more than he wanted to take with him when he went.

Winchester had told him where to put his belongings and then stood back while Lindsey arranged things. He offered a wadded up blanket to use as a brace for the guitar case and once Lindsey had arranged everything so that he was satisfied, the younger man shut the trunk.

"We'd better get going."

\------------

They drove until Lindsey thought he could spot daylight just over the next hill and then Winchester pulled off the road. Neither of them even bothered to look around for a place to stay that didn't have wheels. The seat went back with a soft creaking protest.

If his coworkers at the firm had talked incessantly to cover up what they were really thinking, then Dean set new standards for talking without actually giving anything away. Winchester didn't so much as warn Lindsey not to snore.

This wasn't the first time Lindsey had been forced to sack out with someone he barely knew, but in the past most of the time he didn't have to wonder wither they were going to roll over and introduce him to their favorite sharp object.

Although Winchester hadn't acted jumpy, the uncertainty was still sufficient to make Lindsey aware of the littlest noises around him, After awhile though, he convinced himself that it wasn't too smart to start a fight with someone who had been brought along to take care of a problem. He was so used to looking over his shoulder to make sure that the people around him weren't trying to achieve their own goals at his expense that he had to remind himself that not everyone had the same work ethic.

Winchester didn't move, and in fact he hardly shifted during the night except to minutely adjust his posture. As he got used to the soft sounds of the man next to him and gradually relaxed until he closed his eyes and slept.

In the morning, Lindsey came awake slowly and his neck twinged alarmingly. The Impala had enough space for him to stretch out some, but it still was a far cry from the room he had in the truck. As he sat yup, various parts of his body announced their complaints and he let out a pained noise and banged his knee on the dashboard.

A look to his left confirmed his guess that Winchester had gotten out of the car without waking Lindsey despite the fact that he'd had to slam the door. Either his body had needed the rest, or his instincts had evaluated Lindsey and deemed him no immediate threat. When he wasn't awake to get distracted by good looks and anger issues, he was more aware of how dangerous someone was to him. He wasn't about to dismiss Winchester as being capable of handling himself, but he wasn't actively threatening Lindsey at the moment.

Shoving the door open, he staggered off the road far enough to relieve his bladder and looked around for Winchester. He had wandered to a rock outcropping ad was examining the face of a granite slab that lay at an angle above him. From where he stood, Lindsey couldn't tell what he was doing, and even when he was standing shoulder to shoulder with him, it wasn't clear what he was looking at.

"What're you poking around here for?" Going directly past pleasantries and asking after their goal seemed the best way to get an answer this early in the morning and before they'd had breakfast.

"Dragons nest in caves or deep in the earth most of the time, but when there's nothing else on hand, they use any hold in the ground that has rock somewhere nearby."

"This isn't a cave," Lindsey said, pointing out what he felt was obvious.

"Yeah. They leave signs for one another, and this is the sort of surface they like."

To Lindsey, it was highly improbable that anyone, especially a large flying reptile was going to happen across this particular slab of rock and happen to notice that it was in some minute way different from all the rest of the landscape.

As he leaned a shoulder against the boulder, he tired to communicate that to Winchester. Not one to miss a cue, the kid motioned for Lindsey to wait as he we t his index finger and ran it along the surface of the rock. When he paused, Lindsey craned his neck to see what had happened, and Winchester pointed out a couple of lines.

"Those look familiar?"

Now that he was staring straight at them, Lindsey could see that he resemblance to the scoring in the rocks at the site where the last victims had been taken from.

"So, this is how they leave messages?"

"If they're looking to mark their territory or warn off other dragons, yeah. This kind of note lasts a long time, and they're the only ones looking for it."

"Except for us.

"Right."

"I thought dragons breathed fire and roared to scare away their enemies?"

"Where are you getting your information, bad movies?"

Lindsey was momentarily offended on behalf of Wolfram and Hart's Records Department. "From some academic texts."

"Written by drunk priests?"

"No, by scholars who've made a tradition out of knowing about these things."

"Apparently they haven't learned very much."

If the Watcher's Council hadn't been based in England, Lindsey would have suggested they make a detour to argue against generations of research. The spectacle would have been worth the fallout.

"So do we drive all over looking for rocks that've been scratched up, or is there a club for this sort of stuff?" People had lots of hobbies, and somewhere there must have been a few crazy hunters or some biologists who discovered that not all big reptiles had died out. If they weren't in the phone book, then there was probably an online listening somewhere.

"First off, there's been one this way recently. See how the edges of these marks are smooth? If they'd been left here awhile, the rain and wind would've worn them down."

"Okay, there's a dragon flapping around, what d'you usually do about it?"

"Easy, find out where the best spot to sight one is."

"You know a guy?"

"Not personally; there's a couple guys who track the movement of large animals. I'll give one a call." Winchester dug into his pocket and came up with a cell phone. It made sense that a kid who didn't seem to have a partner or backup would have a network instead.

Winchester punched in a long distance number and got voicemail. The message he left was friendly, his voice bright and without any of the concern that would normally be called for when a dragon was out gobbling folks up like it was going out of style.

Lindsey started out across the landscape and watched sunlight dry the dew and thought about resources.

Snapping the phone shut and dropping it back in his pocket, Winchester twisted his neck to one side until it popped.

"I'm thinking breakfast would be a good right about now, what d'you say, Lindsey?" He gave Lindsey's name an extra letter and drew it out with the intent to annoy.

"Sounds good." He hadn't seen a restaurant around, but every man had a feeling when it came to these things and they'd happen across something before too long.

He wasn't wrong; some family had staked all their savings and hope on hooking truckers with the smell of home cooking and leading them to a tiny-no-bigger-than-a-trailer, diner on the side of the road.

The food was good, and the owners attentive, so the experience went into Lindsey's book as being one of the better examples of a small business.

Winchester set the phone down between the salt and pepper shakers and Lindsey found himself willing it to ring between bites of hash browns and eggs.

"Relax, man, Mike doesn't get in until at least nine."

"In the morning?"

"He works nights."

"Should I even ask if this has any bearing on hunting dragons?"

"If you like," Winchester offered, and Lindsey realized his education was showing. When he didn't volunteer the information, Lindsey rolled his eyes. IT felt like he was dealing with one of his siblings.

"What does Mike, of no last name and supposed dragon expert, do for a living?"

"He's out in the badlands, digging up bones."

"Any kind ,or a special sort?" Giving Winchester the same look he would if his kid brother had been playing dumb, Lindsey let him have his fun for another minute or two.

"Dinosaurs."

"He likes big lizards alive and dead," Lindsey observed.

"Mmm," Lindsey said through his coffee.

Sitting back and exhaling with gusto, Winchester waved a hand for the bill.

"And why then would he be out all night. You can't dig very well in the dark."

"Oh, I don't know, I just thought I'd mention it."

Lindsey had briefly thought about what manner of support this kid had, and now he had to add 'not an only child,' to the picture that was slowly developing. Although he understandably had questions about what actually drove Winchester to hunt these things, he was willing to wait until he had a better idea of how to approach the conversation so that he could learn everything that he was interested in. Some time ago he'd decided that there was no use in waiting for people to explain their feelings to him, he simply had to find a way to ask the right questions. He didn't need to make the guy nervous; Winchester hunted monsters for a cause and there was no telling whether he could be bought or what his limits were.

Even Winchester's dedication to their objective was suspect; his attitude was flippant even while he gave Lindsey tips on their prey. He'd heard of trying to enjoy one's work, but surely this couldn't be the only way Winchester spent his time. To be solely a hunter was to pour all energy and determination into a single pursuit, and that made Lindsey uneasy. There was something frightening about a man set on a course, and so Lindsey had to learn in what direction Winchester intended to move.

\-----------------

The next several days were spent looking for hints as to the dragon's whereabouts, and Lindsey longed for hours doing research where he actually knew what he was looking for.

Winchester had been flipping through local and national newspapers when he froze. Lindsey recognized a flash of insight and didn't interrupt.

"We need to find a library," Winchester said, gathering up the scattered pages of newsprint.

"Alright."

It didn't take long in a small town to find the place where the books were kept, and once inside, Lindsey let Winchester locate what he was looking for. The other man didn't explain himself until he'd booted up a computer and gotten a search up and running.

"See, the thing is that these days, there are a lot more ways to track animals."

"And, being very intelligent, dragons have naturally caught onto the fact that they need to lay low."

"Huh?"

"Well, isn't that what you were going to say?" Winchester's expression suggested that Lindsey might have taken a header into a brick wall and it was a miracle that nobody had diagnosed the problem before. Somehow he managed to convey all that without doing more than raising his eyebrows and holding Lindsey's gaze for a long second.

"I guess I need to catch up on those articles on dragon behavior that I've been saving for a rainy day."

"It's a good idea," Winchester agreed, and ducked out of the way when Lindsey aimed a punch at his head.

"So, how do you track them?"

"Forest fires."

"How's that?"

"Dragon's breath burns through almost everything and when it leaves charring, there's a particular pattern to the burn pattern."

Lindsey didn't want to go around and stomp through the remains of forests all over the country and map out air flow without being absolutely sure that what they were doing was going to produce results. Winchester caught on to what he was thinking and held up a hand to forestall the comments he could see coming.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to drag you to every fire and hike around."

"Oh, good."

"I just need to find photos of the sites, from that I can tell whether the fires were caused by a dragon or not."

Winchester scrolled through a list of links and examined images intently.

"And what does a dragon's breath fire tell you, aside from the fact that there's one in the area?"

"A dragon doesn't scorch their territory unless they can't find anything to eat. A fire drives the animals out and they wait to pick them off."

"But afterwards there's nothing to eat," Lindsey said, catching on.

"Right, so if this dragon's been torching forests, it's out of options which explains why it's been picking off college kids."

Still staring at the screen, Winchester added," And since dragons always go back to their dens, the fires will be near their home turf."

Lindsey knew that he wasn't an expert in this area, but not knowing what he was supposed to do bothered him. He was willing to let Winchester direct the search, but he was determined that when it was time to act, he wouldn't be left watching the car. It seemed reasonable that Winchester was prepared to fill him in; otherwise he was just looking for company, and that didn't seem probable. After taking care of oneself without help for a while, it was second nature, Lindsey was familiar with the signs and Winchester epitomized self-sufficiency. It wasn't obvious to a casual observer that Winchester knew how to handle himself, but given enough time and exposure, the extent of his facade was more apparent. After a couple days of being in Winchester's company, Lindsey was beginning to get the idea that what he was seeing was just a pleasant surface distraction, a talent that he used to get what he wanted.

As he leaned into the space of someone else, Winchester radiated receptivity to whatever that person would respond best to. Without having any prior knowledge of the informant's history, he could put them at tease and encourage disclosure far beyond what was normal for polite social conversation.

Lindsey found that interesting to watch as he knew what was happening, It didn't matter that Winchester wasn't the typical confidante and only barely fit without the parameters of authority figures, but he managed to open way more doors than Lindsey had been able to once he passed the bar exam. It made Lindsey curious about how Winchester entertained himself if he was this used to fooling other people to achieve an objective.

The individual targeted for his latest interrogation was the librarian. She had to have been in her seventies and had her hair pulled precisely back into a bun and peered over her bifocals at Winchester and Lindsey as if daring them to try anything. Still, she answered all of Winchester's questions and had to work to control her expression when Winchester smiled especially warmly.

On the way back to the car, Lindsey gave Winchester a look and shook his head. "I couldn't tell whether she was going to give you a lecture or take you home and feed you," he said, and got a smirk in reply.

"She was pretty sharp and I found out what I needed to know."

"And how does knowing all of that stuff about the weather help?"

"I know which direction we need to go now."

"What was that stuff about mining?"

"If there's drilling done, it may disturb things underground."

"Does that do anything to narrow the search?"

"Not that much, it was just background."

"Are we going to go and talk to some miners?"

"Depends on what the Forest Service says."

The official they found practically sweated 'ladder climber,' and eagerly lectured the two of them on safety and trail maintenance.

In this instance, Lindsey stepped up and spoke as one professional to another, placating the man into giving them a more abbreviated presentation.

Winchester didn't object to having another person take the lead and hung back, projecting blank indifference as if he was only Lindsey's assistant.

It took a few minutes to shake off 'Mr. McDonald' afterwards, and it surprised Lindsey at how insincere he felt.

"Been awhile since you did that?" Winchester observed when Lindsey stared out the window without really seeing anything.

"Yeah. I'd forgotten how easy it was."

"Takes a lot out of you, though," was the only comment, and Lindsey agreed.

"Wes that why you stopped?"

"Practicing law?"

"Yeah."

"I found out some things about the company worked for that I couldn't let go or fix."

Winchester glanced over and nodded to himself. "Makes sense."

"What?"

"It wasn't that long ago."

"Less than a year."

"Still feels like you're missing something."

"Right."

"You can't get it back?"

"No, I made kind of a big exit, and there's no way to go back."

Although he didn't answer, Lindsey could tell that Winchester was considering what Lindsey was saying and his reactions.

"If anything, I'd bet on them wondering what I took with me and whether I talked to the competition."

"They sound pretty serious."

"The commitment was considerable."

Just talking about it made Lindsey check over his shoulder, even though he hadn't seen anyone following him. He did entertain the idea that since he'd taken up with a person who sought out the otherworldly in order to eliminate it, he was at greater risk of being taken as a threat.

Not slow to follow a line of thought to its conclusion, Winchester's expression was unreadable. He didn't ask if Lindsey was sure that he wasn't bringing trouble along with him, or who he'd worked for; Winchester accepted the facts, weighed them, and moved on. It wasn't absolution or the L.A. version of the first step, and Winchester hadn't promised that he wouldn't dissolve this arrangement later, but honesty had just granted him something he hadn't had in some time, and he dared to call it promising.

\-----------

Somehow Lindsey hadn't realized how closely Winchester had been following the mountain ranges, but as he considered the distant outcroppings, he could trace their route in his mind merely by picking out the difference in topography against he skyline. For a while, all that had blurred past the windows had been flatlands, but now Winchester put his index finger on a range of mountains and then consulted the notes he'd been making, clearly deciding their next stop.

The map was spread out over the hood of his car and Lindsey moved casually to stand just behind his shoulder and see what he was doing.

"I see a camping trip in the works," he predicted, and Winchester's shoulders moved in that informative shrug.

"Maybe, I'm trying to keep this to a day hike operation."

"You don't want to spend a night outside under the stars?"

"With a hungry dragon in the area? I don't think so."

"If I was more sensitive, I'd say that you didn't want this chance to get to know me better." Lindsey deliberately widened his eyes and adopted a hurt expression, as if Winchester's fears of being politically incorrect were an impediment to the partnership.

Without even looking at him, Winchester got the point, and dismissed it. "Nah."

"Really, Winchester, you might need to talk to someone about these intimacy issues you've got."

"And are you offering?"

"To talk about your issues?" Lindsey watched Winchester's expression as he moved purposefully past social distance and directly into his personal space.

Lindsey had gone to law school in order to avoid being in a position where he'd have to do dangerous physical labor, and now that he'd left one career, he supposed that left him open to the other. He couldn't say it was a pleasant surprise, but it was necessary for the time being.

"See here, we'll take the road from Red Lodge to Cooke City and just slide by Yellowstone. We're headed for Bear Tooth Mountains; there's a glacier near there."

"That means what? You want to have snow cones and kick back?"

"I think," Winchester said, using his 'speaking to idiots' voice again, "that this dragon was either asleep and got thawed out, or it nests right around there."

As he craned his neck to read what the map, Lindsey raised his eyebrows. "So this is in no way feeding a long-buried and well hidden impulsive tourist sensibility that's driving you to check out national parks and what is, and I quote, 'the highest point in Montana.' "

"I've already seen the mountain, it's very tall."

"That's characteristic of mountains," Lindsey agreed.

He watched as their path was

"A dragon isn't going to roost on top of a plateau where everyone can see it."

"Maybe not all the time, but the visibility's got to be great from there, and they've got amazing eyesight, so it would be perfect spot to hunt from."

"You have all the equipment?" He asked somewhat disbelievingly.

"Most of it," replied absently. "The rest of it we'll borrow." The morality of such a plan was questionable, but if the outcome of this enterprise was to their liking, then it should balance out.

All of this had to be a step toward redeeming some of what he'd done, either that or he was just fortunate enough to have attracted the sort of celestial attention that was testing him. He would rather that they didn't bother.

It was obvious that they were going to have to enter the dragon's den and deal with it, but Lindsey wasn't looking forward to the experience.

Winchester turned the wheel and they meandered along the curving road, ignoring signs and lookout spots along the way. As they traveled, leaving the last town and its amenities, Lindsey felt the weight of the mountain begin to press down on them. It was an increasingly powerful reminder of the fact that there was no haven to retreat to if something went wrong. And Lindsey expected there to be problems while they hunted a giant lizard that flew and breathed fire. After all, if a vampire and his human flunkies could royally disrupt an open and shut case and countless important rituals, then he suspected a sizably larger animal could be extremely problematic.

By the time Winchester had found an area that he felt was suitable and stopped to set up, Lindsey was annoyed enough to be eager to get out and finish the job.

Winchester flipped the trunk, and pawed through piles of tools and objects that Lindsey couldn't identify until he pulled out a rifle, ammunition, passed both to Lindsey and continued gathering equipment.

A canvas bag was chosen as a reservoir for the supplies, and as that was lifted, Lindsey saw the strap go taut with its weight.

They split the baggage between them, and as Winchester closed up the car, Lindsey asked, "Aren't you worried about someone taking your car?"

"I get it blessed every so often, and anybody who tried to mess with my girl would get a big surprise."

"Have a few traps in place?"

"Or something." Winchester smiled, obviously at some private joke.

"I thought you might've had a vanishing spell for situations like this."

"Do you know how long those take to cast?" Winchester demanded.

"Not all of them are that complicated," Lindsey retorted, recalling a couple spells he'd been witness to.

"The ones that work the best are a pain in the ass and the ingredients are hard to find."

"Alright, I was just curious."

"There are definite advantages to having a larger budget and keeping a bunch of wizards on staff," he mused.

Winchester nodded. "I'd agree."

"There wasn't any overt disapproval in his voice, still Lindsey felt that atypical urge to distance himself form his previous choices. But Winchester turned his head away and freed him of the explanations.

"Let's get a move on, if we want to pull this thing off, we can't hand around wasting daylight."

If they met anyone hiking, Lindsey hoped he didn't have to be the one to explain what they were doing.

It was a distinct change to be using his body and senses in concert and knew that both were very important. He couldn't reason his way out of this problem, and body language wasn't going to make his adversary back off, so he had to use a combination of the two in order to work on the problem. All of this became clearer to him as he walked along with Winchester, unconsciously matching his pace and stride.

Out of his bag Winchester took an old walkman that looked as though it'd had ambitions of radio broadcasting but hadn't gotten that scholarship.

"What's that?"

Winchester adjusted the earpiece and held the machine up so that Lindsey could have a better look. "An EMF meter."

"That measures what, exactly?"

"It picks up the electromagnetic levels in an area from 'weird stuff.'"

"That's new."

"You've never heard of EMF?"

"No."

"How did you track these things in your old job?"

"I usually called up the security office and told them to install bugs in a good spot."

Winchester paused while plainly trying to envision Lindsey's methods, and evidently found them improbable. "So nobody cared about these things?"

"We cared, it was just another resource to accomplish the task."

"I don't see that happening here."

"No, dragons aren't really the most reasonable animals."

"That's where I come in," Winchester said brightly, as if that was simply the way of the world, and he had confidence in his abilities.

"Yeah, about that, do we have any sort of magical sword that's going to take this thing down?"

"Well, we've got dynamite." Winchester patted his bag.

"We do?"

"Yeah, to make sure the job's done. A dragon's got a thick hide, like a hell almost, but there are vulnerable points, and those are the priorities."

"And where are they vulnerable, specifically?"

"Base of the skill, and under the chin."

"That sounds like you have to get in pretty close to do this."

"It's a little tricky," Winchester agreed.

"You ever done this before?"

"Once. There were a couple of us, and it's all in the timing."

"Basically the ore distractions, the better."

"Right."

"That's why the rifle."

"I brought some other toys too."

"Do they make a lot of noise?" Lindsey asked playfully.

"Absolutely."

One way they could relate was an appreciation for blowing stuff up, and they shared a grin.

For someone who did a lot of driving to find his jobs, Winchester kept up a steady lope. Apparently hunting was a good way to stay fit.

"You picking anything up that thing?"

"Not yet, but we're close, it won't be long."

Almost as soon as he spoke, the meter's dial twitched spasmodically and let out a shrill whine.

"We've arrived," Lindsey declared, as if they were explorers finally at their destination.

Winchester moved off the path in one direction, and then another, determining in which direction the signal was the strongest, and when he'd made that determination, they set off again, this time deeper into untracked wilderness.

\-----------------

Now that they were closing in on the cave, they moved much faster.

"Why is the signal so strong if we're not on top of it," Lindsey asked.

"EVP measures all kinds of energy, and since this animal has grabbed so many people, chances are that there are some spirits hanging around too."

"Are they going to be a problem?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"Whether they want us to get rid of the dragon or not."

"Why wouldn't they?"

"Who knows, ghost don't go to therapy and share their feelings on Oprah."

"Terrific."

"The rifle is loaded with rock salt, that repels ghosts."

"Are we going to need it?"

"You don't hear them?"

"No, just you."

"Check your ears, genius."

Lindsey slugged Winchester in the side just to make him flinched and focused on the sounds of their surroundings. The wind might make unusual sounds, but voices didn't belong in the breeze.

Winchester was keeping an eye on Lindsey, and when he heard the first moan and froze, the other man put a hand out.

"Now you can follow them."

"Most people wouldn't hear them," Lindsey said.

"If they pay attention, they will, and if a ghost wants to be heard, then they'll make it happen."

That at least was probably universal, though Lindsey didn't know if spirits learned how to be assertive through experience, or if being the unquiet dead was sufficient motivation for chain rattling. It went a long way toward explaining why they were so angry; shouting until someone stopped to listen had to get tedious, even with an eternity to perfect communication styles.

Based on his own difficulties with attracting some of the more unwanted attention of the thick-skulled, Lindsey thought he'd better go forward prepared and heavily armed.

He couldn't see any misty forms drifting among the trees, but could hear them, which was more unnerving. Every so often, he thought he saw something flitted by, but it was never visible when he looked a second time.

"Stay focused," Winchester murmured, stowing the EVP meter and handling his own weapon.

Swinging the crossbow out in front of him, sighting down its length, Winchester didn't appear to notice that they were becoming the target of ghostly attention.

They'd left off whimpering and crying out, and now reached out their bloodied hands and stuttered forward, dragging gore-stained companions, all now intent on the progress of the two men.

It went without saying that the closer they got to the dragon's den, the less noise they could afford to make. If the ghosts truly did object to their mission, then Lindsey predicted another obstacle.

He met the milky stare of an especially gruesome specter and showed his teeth in warning. He wanted there to be no room for confusion, and when all of the rules rewrote themselves, laying out the basics brought back some of the balance.

The spirit didn't stop waving its bloody hand at Lindsey's face, but it did back off and give him some space.

He didn't expect it to last; the dead had little consideration for anything exceeding their own needs. Whether the dragon's victims had hung around long enough for their own version of Stockholm Syndrome to stet in wasn't something he wanted to find out at a crucial moment.

"Is it your way to wait until they attack you, and then shoot?"

"They might not have a problem with us, and the less time we spend thinking about what they might do, the greater chance we have of sneaking up on this lizard while it's napping."

"Do you honestly think it's just going to keep snoozing away while we stomp around looking for the best way to blow up its cave?"

"I'd say that's the goal." He paused. "Otherwise things are going to get a bit tricky."

"Shit." Lindsey glared at another ghost that was flanking them until it wisped away.

"I just need a couple shots in the right spot, and then we're gone."

"Nice and easy."

"Exactly." Winchester nodded to the mouth of a cave a couple hundred feet off. "That's the place." Adjusting his bag more securely he checked his crossbow again, fingers dancing over the bolts, being thorough even after Lindsey had seen him load the weapon to capacity.

"Alright, so we go in, take the flashlights, hopefully there isn't going to be a bad drop-off, but that's what the rope is for. When we find it, we get into position. I'm aiming for the head. I'll need you to cover me, distract it when it wakes up, it'll take more than one shot, and it's going to put up a fight." He looked at Lindsey searchingly. "You got it?"

"Yeah."

Winchester nodded. "Okay, let's go."

The cave's ceiling sloped up away from the entrance and they were able to walk comfortably for a few minutes and then the rock began to angle downward. Soon Lindsey had to bend his head and then he was hunched over and cursing the lack of room. By the time they reached the dragon, he'd be too contacted to move quickly.

"Is it much further?"

"No way of knowing for sure, but I'd say we're close."

"Good thing." Lindsey fell silent after that; his ears had picked up an unfamiliar sound, a steady whistling that rose and fell rhythmically.

Winchester was outline by the flashlight and he nodded in confirmation, the dragon was nearby.

They didn't way down so much as they fell into it. One minute Lindsey had been swearing and wistfully thinking of open spaces and how nice it would be to not have scoliosis when his boots slipped on some loose rocks. Winchester apparently had the same experience, but neither of them said anything and it was that next step that sent them onto their backs and sliding downwards with no way to stop their descent.

Clenching his teeth, Lindsey held onto the loud, admittedly shrill noise that he wanted to let out, and as he tumbled to a halt at the bottom, congratulated himself on upholding some masculine code and not alerting the dragon to his presence. When Winchester landed on top of him though, Lindsey allowed himself a grunt and shoved the other man off without regard for manners.

Winchester rolled to his feet without fussing, shook off the impact and started looking around.

Lindsey resolved that after this, he was going to find the appropriate official and suggest that caves be thoroughly mapped and such surveys readily available to the public. He wasn't above using his degree to intimidate the bureaucracy if need be, so long as he never came across a sudden drop off again.

His companion had paused while Lindsey gathered himself and now he gestured sharply for Lindsey to take the left side of the cave while he moved to the opposite wall.

The cave had its own illumination, which, Lindsey realized, corresponded to the dragon's breathing, and was in fact, provided by the animal.

Even as he skirted the rock face, Lindsey cataloged minor observations for later. There had to be some compound in the dragon's lungs that when combined with the air it inhaled, ignited. That meant they couldn't approach from the front, which suited him just fine. Teeth and fire weren't things he wanted to deal with directly, but that made getting the right angle more complicated. He continued modifying strategies as he worked his way around massive scaled limbs without bumping into the dragon, knowing that he would recognize the solution when he happened upon it.

There weren't any convenient ledges where Winchester could position himself and aim without being in a perfect spot for the dragon to chomp on him.

The dragon was curled in on itself , the lines of its body snakelike and even slumbering, Lindsey could tell it was a predator.

Pebbled skin brushed against the wall, scarping slightly with each break and limiting the space he had to make his way around it. He might be able to climb over its legs, but even a deeply sleeping reptile was going to notice when someone stuck a foot into its side, because he hadn't brought a rocket pack.

Winchester was moving along the length of the tail, watching the slow flicking motion of a dragon's dreams. The stepped around the tip, avoiding the jagged edges that Lindsey surmised could be used in flight or as a weapon.

One of them was between its back and the wall, and the other got claws, teeth, and all the sharp bits. It was a toss up which of them had the worst side. Just to give him an idea of which direction he should jump, Lindsey cast his eyes to the corners and found little or no cover. Still, the dragon had to have a way of getting out of its cave, and as Lindsey craned his head back he saw an enormous hole in the roof, the edges rough and marked up by its claws.

He didn't foresee himself throwing a ripe up and hoisting himself out in heroic style. The only other option was to go back the way they'd come, which he wasn't any more enthusiastic about.

Catching Winchester's attention, Lindsey pointed upwards and grimaced.

'What can you do?' said Winchester's posture, and he stepped over the massive hind feet one at a time, putting his boots down delicately and soundlessly.

They both breathed deeply in relief and then went forward again.

As he inched toward the head, Lindsey clung to the rock outcroppings, and actually found that he could hang on and only brush up against the dragon, which was in his mind, better, despite the awkwardness of the situation. He couldn't spar a glance for Winchester and was glad that he could assume the other man was fully capable of doing his part.

At last he got to the front of the beast and slid down the wall until he was at in chosen destination with enough room to maneuver and had as much protection as he could find.

Winchester waved to him from the other side of the dragon's head and Lindsey figured that since they'd gotten into place, they were ready to enact the plan. He aimed the rifle at what he hoped was a weak spot behind the animal's jaw and braced himself as Winchester approached the dragon.

From where he was standing, he couldn't see him move, but he heard Winchester's boots as they impacted with skin.

He caught sight of Winchester running up the dragon's front leg and onto its shoulder and with the fourth or fifth step, there was a rustling sound, like paper rubbing against itself, and looking down the length of the dragon, Lindsey saw its wings moving. He glanced back at its head and found one giant eye open and regarding him with interest.

"We've got a problem," Lindsey called out, stepping back and bringing the rifle to bear on his target.

"Understood."

"Have you got it?"

"Almost."

"Hurry."

The dragon might not have understood what they were saying, but clearly, it objected to being bothered, and thought poorly of being used as lookout spot.

Surging to its feet, it shook itself vigorously, rolling its shoulders from side to side and spreading its wings in irritation.

"You alright?"

"Terrific." Winchester managed through what had to be teeth-gritting jerks and twist of his perch. It looked like a rodeo ride, with the stakes being higher and the prize surviving the ordeal.

"If I ever do this again, remind me to come up with a better plan."

"You mean," Winchester panted and then continued blithely, as if they were having this conversation someplace out of imminent danger, "you don't like these odds?"

"Says the guy barely hanging onto a friggin' dragon."

Lindsey was tracking the animal's movements with the rifle as he moved around it. Footing was negligible, but he wasn't trying to be fast yet, just to try and hold the dragon's attention,, like a snake charmer who wasn't willing take success for granted.

"Haven't you got the shot yet?" Lindsey demanded, letting impatience and worry shade his voice equally.

"Give me some credit. I just want to make sure."

"There's such a thing as being too meticulous."

"Was that your specialty?"

"Hilarious."

"Alright, watch out."

What Winchester actually meant was 'the dragon is about to freak the hell out and you've never had to deal with several thousand pounds of furious reptile, welcome to another new experience.' Lindsey would have given a lot to have a more informative answer, but obviously, being in this business did not stipulate that one had to explain yourself to anyone.

But Lindsey had been an unwilling participant in the struggle that invariably erupted between two sides unable to come to terms with the other's point of view more than once, and he was edgy enough to jump aside when the dragon exhaled a gust of fire. Whether or not destroying this animal was going to save a few people who never even guessed what was going on outside after they locked their doors didn't matter; it wasn't that he'd never been invested in some facet of the bigger picture; it just so happened that his survival was his primary objective. Especially when his best choices for making it out of this was to hop behind a smallish rock or to run underneath the large animal spitting fire at him. Taking his chances at being stepped on, Lindsey aimed, and fired at one of the supposedly weak points on the dragon, slid to one side when it roared and reacted explosively, and ducked between its legs.

From beneath it, he could hear fire searing rock, the sounds of its displeasure, and two shots in rapid succession followed by an aborted yell and a thump as the dragon succeeded in dislodging its passenger and sent Winchester flying.

Lindsey could feel the seams of his clothing protest the twisting roll that put him out of the range of sweeping claws and knew that something had torn.

The dragon let out a hiss and staggered. Lindsey kept an eye on its feet and waited.

"Are you sure you hit it?" he called.

The sounds of an enraged animal continued. That, and the absence of a replay added up to the necessity of modifying the plan.

He looked around, hoping that he wouldn't see a limp from off in a corner. Thankfully, there were no signs of fatalities, but he couldn't make out where Winchester had landed.

"You missed." Jibing at professional pride could be as good as a splash of cold water.

"No, I didn't get a second shot."

"Might want to work on your aim; you have to be quick in this game."

"You must have really pissed someone off with a mouth like yours."

With as much hauteur as he could pull of believably, Lindsey danced out of the ay of another kicked, and then answered, all warm insinuation. "Boy, I know what to do with my mouth."

"Really. How about your brain? Or did that get soft up in your high-rise office?"

Had there not been one large scaly leg directly in Lindsey's sights ,it could have been argued that he was aiming for Winchester, but since he didn't actually shoot the other man, it was a completely innocent coincidence. Only if one didn't have eyes.

"Bit sensitive," Winchester observed and hoisted himself up over something that Lindsey couldn't see between puffs of fire and blackness.

"What now?"

"I get under this bastard's head, and take that second shot. A distraction would be nice."

"Glad I tagged along."

"The company's not bad." A bolt slid home and Lindsey saw him outlined briefly against the nearest wall. "Go."

Lindsey fired as he ran forward, under its chest, narrowly avoiding its legs, heading toward the front and Winchester's footsteps. They met underneath the dragon's head and without speaking, moved in and out of each other's space, Lindsey yelling at the animal and using the last of the rock salt and switching to bullets.

Somehow Winchester put aside the confusion and excitement and stood motionless as he made incremental adjustments before taking the shot. As it connected, the dragon reared back, front feet leaving the ground and giving them a clear path.

Winchester reached out and grabbed hold of Lindsey's shirt. "Move," he ordered, and the took a diagonal track across the cave back to where they'd first entered.

Working in concert, they pulled the explosives out and Lindsey set about arranging them and hurling some in the direction of hate downed animal. It was no trouble to find an ignition source; the dragon's breath was still gusting weakly and small fires burned all over the cave. Lindsey watched to make sure that each of the sticks was catching fire while Winchester unwound the climbing rope. The dragon and their insurance was working the way they'd hoped.

Winchester had sent the rope up the tunnel and Lindsey heard the hook slip into place. Once he was sure the line had been secured, he tapped Lindsey's shoulder and held out the rope.

It wasn't an overly arduous trek upwards, and under other circumstances it could have been a good time. I n this case though, Lindsey was nearly running uphill with Winchester on his heels and the sounds and heat of multiple explosions behind them, It was sufficient encouragement to move quickly. Although they slipped on loose shale at times, there was no possibility of respite and they kept struggling steadily higher.

It seemed an interminable journey to the surface, but at last Lindsey's shoulders came up into the first cave and from there they stumbled out into daylight.

Bent over, hands braced on his keens, Lindsey waited for his breathing to steady.

Winchester was leaning against a tree, head tipped back, chest heaving.

While he didn't want to ask the question, Lindsey opened his mouth anyway. "Are you sure we got it?"

"Eyes closed, Winchester's throat worked for a moment and then he replied," Yeah."

"Okay, good." Lindsey said faintly. The relief flipped a switch in his mind; he went from needing to watch his every move to having some peace of mind.

He could feel a cut on his temple throbbing in sync with his pulse, his hands were raw from the cave floor, he probably had pebbles embedded in his skin, and he knew he was dirty and wearing ripped clothes.

Winchester looked just as wrecked, but as their eyes met, Lindsey grinned because it didn't matter. They'd made it through an impossible situation together and come out more or less intact. That gave him an entirely different kind of rush.

Winchester looked dazed but jittery, almost as if he was about to take off just to burn off some of that energy.

Lindsey was unwilling to let him deal with this in whatever way he usually did on his own when there was another solution.

\--------------

Winchester had given him assessing looks before, but none quite like the up and down evaluation that asked whether he was going to ask or try and take it, and Lindsey knew his answering smile was all the reply needed, but the idea of being knocked into a tree trunk and having bark ground into his back wasn't too appealing, and so when Winchester swiped at his face and came away with dirt, Lindsey jerked his head toward the trail.

He followed the other man back to the Impala, deliberately stepping on his heels in an attempt to get a reaction and to keep the tension ratcheted up.

The concealments laid over the car came away as Winchester pulled the keys out of a pocket and mouthed something to himself that Lindsey couldn't hear. Some things were possibly best left between a man and his car.

There should have been etiquette guidelines written down somewhere that one could refer to after engaging in risky behavior that involved a dragon and that advised on how best to communicate and interact on a more personal level. Had there been such a thing, Lindsey would diligently memorized it, but he found that improvisation and creative manipulation of the variables were adequate substitutes for the manual.

Winchester's neck was sweaty, and the hair at his nape curled a little under Lindsey's fingers. There was ash all over them both, and they smelled like smoke, but that was just part of the moment.

He pushed Winchester into the side of the Impala, and their mouths met seconds later. The kiss was messy and dominance unclear even though Lindsey was holding the other man's head still to his satisfaction.

After a few passes of tongue and teeth, Winchester laughed into Lindsey's mouth, and wrenched free to return the favor.

"You're kind of a slippery bastard,: Lindsey said as Winchester flipped him into the back windows and spread him out for a better attack. The pose wasn't unknown to him; he'd been the one to be pinned by someone else so often that he let it happen for a minute or two and then, in the spirit of turning over a new leaf, he grabbed Winchester's belt loops and lifted him off.

"What?" Winchester backed off, looking at him warily.

"I'm just trying something different."

"You haven't done this before?" Winchester eyed him disbelievingly, he could be forgiven for thinking that Lindsey was having a mental episode.

"No, I have, I meant-" Lindsey gave up on explaining himself and acted.

Winchester hadn't objected to rough handling and moment's ago, and he had nothing negative to add about being shoved back and laid onto the Impala's trunk.

He didn't make the mistake of assuming that Winchester would be still if he couldn't get his head together, but he wanted to do less of what'd had been his default strategy in the past. It would be nice to have physical encounters and without the fallout being unwanted ligature marks and unexpected amputations.

Winchester's shirt had a button missing and there was a scorch mark on his jeans. These details were briefly his focus, and then Lindsey started with his collar and yanked it open, letting it hang unevenly on Winchester's chest. He liked the sensation of the cloth; each successive layer was worn, faded, and soft on his palms as he balled the material up to expose Winchester's stomach. He paused to appreciate the undeniable appeal of a man leaning back unresistingly on sun-warmed metal with danger still fresh on his skin. Urging him to step up the pace, Winchester let his legs fall open and Lindsey stepped in and put his weight on the other man. He braced one hand on Winchester's belly and pulled his zipper down with the other.

There didn't have to be threats and excessive attitude, and Lindsey had forgotten that during his years of literal corporate backstabbing and lessons in all the ways monstrosity could be couched in catchy acronyms. Most importantly, Winchester wasn't waiting for him to propose an alternative, he didn't even know that Lindsey had been unofficially labeled most prone to unhealthy attachments one memorable year.

"Oh, you're not going off in your head again," Winchester muttered in annoyance, and really, Lindsey should have apologized for spacing out with a hand down his pants, but he didn't get a chance to, because Winchester reached up and dragged him down insistently and that worked too.

Gripping Lindsey's hair like he wished it was longer so he had more to hang onto, Winchester shook him a little to capture his full attention and looked him directly in the eye. "Whatever you're dealing with, that's not here." He didn't add 'be in the moment,' but Lindsey got the message.

Skin touched, and it was like a current of now-faster-more built with each second of contact. He was vaguely thankful for the wide surface of the trunk and had a greater appreciation of working toward common goals without moping about.

The curiosities of happenstance were only outdone by the novelty of having someone close whose pulse beat in time with his and who breathed for more than a hunter's appreciation of a conquest. Even though Winchester took their wrestling and jostling for the most comfortable position to be a challenge, he wasn't trying to make Lindsey back down.

He shoved Winchester's pants down and let them knock him off balance as he dragged his own clothing against Winchester's skin, enjoying the way buttons and zippers left marks and made him twitch. Sliding downward, between his legs, Lindsey chucked upon finding bare skin and leaning forward, he put his mouth around Winchester's cock.

"Ah," he said, tossing his head back and his hands scrabbled over the metal behind him.

Lindsey moved slowly over the hard flesh, letting Winchester mutter and swear until their rhythms synchronized and his hips followed Lindsey's mouth.

He stroked his fingers over Winchester's pelvis and found ink swirling around and down his thighs. What he couldn't make out with his eyes, he traced by touch. He wanted to se the lines etched in his skin, find their meaning and hear the stories behind each line of ink.

Winchester breathed unevenly as Lindsey sucked and searched out sensitive spots with his fingers. He didn't talk dirty, but Lindsey took his cues from the noises that sensation tugged out of him and each gasp or whimper was a victory to be claimed. Already wound up, it didn't take long for finesse and consideration to disintegrate under need, and Lindsey had to move more quickly to keep up with the jerking of Winchester's hips.

One of Winchester's hands reached out as if to pull Lindsey off and he sat back and used his hand for the last few strokes.

Breathing heavily, Winchester slumped against the Chevy, gaze unfocused and posture loose enough to make Lindsey feel a little smug. He generously estimated he would let the other man have half a minute before he became impatient and Winchester actually snapped out of his daze more quickly and grabbed him decisively.

Tugging his clothes up with one hand, Winchester maneuvered Lindsey off his knees and switched their positions. He scolded Lindsey for his careless scraping at the paint with a swat and Lindsey purposefully ignored him in favor of resting more firmly on the car's solid bulk.

Sighing as if greatly put upon, Winchester gave him a stern look and effectively undid Lindsey's rebuttal as he unbuttoned his jeans. He seemed perfectly at ease holding Lindsey in place so that he could take a thorough look at the picture he made before he moved again, and Lindsey had a few unkind thoughts about the delay.

It was unfair for someone who'd been thrown around so vigorously less than an hour ago to be so limber, but Lindsey let gripes about the difference in their ages pass as Winchester's complete willingness to render him speechless was demonstrated thoroughly with clever flicks of tongue and more teeth than Lindsey would have admitted he liked. Correctly interpreting his swallowed moans and indecisive directions, Winchester pushed him back and went down on him until Lindsey was willing to let him take all manner of liberties. When it was over, Lindsey rested on the car for long enough for his head to clear.

Winchester smirked at his dishevelment and moseyed, for want of another word, to the trunk, stowing supplies and rummaged around while Lindsey cleaned himself up.

"Your face is kind of messed up," Winchester said, and Lindsey felt the throbbing of broken skin intensify.

"I'd forgotten," he replied.

Of course Winchester had a first aid kit in his car, and as he pulled the sack out and began searching through it, Lindsey was waiting for him to pull out a scalpel and surgical thread, the inventory was so extensive.

"This is a dangerous job," he said, to fill the silence that was broken by the ripping of gauze and the bite of alcohol.

As Winchester held up a soaked pad, Lindsey glared. "Aren't you gonna warn me before slapping that on?"

"Do you need time to get ready?" Winchester asked mock solicitously.

"If that's not too much trouble."

"Well, now that I know about your special needs we can get on with this."

Lindsey sat still and barely flinched as Winchester brought the cloth up to his face. Despite his teasing, he was careful and moved quickly.

"Did you run into a wall?"

"If I did, it would have been to save you from getting killed."

"You should've told me you were such a klutz."

"I think that had something to do with the situation."

"Right."

"Like you're one to talk," Lindsey retorted as he reached out and poked at one of the scratches on Winchester's neck. His hand was batted away and Winchester kept on with his work.

Winchester fixed Lindsey up with barbs and teasing, but his hands never caused deliberate hurt, and he had the efficiency of a triage specialist. Plainly, he'd done this chore for others, and be they dead or absent, Lindsey profited from their influence.

Lindsey let the Impala hold him up, feeling, in spite of scrapes, bruises, and a couple twinges that would need a drugstore consultation the next morning, that given past events, things would be much worse.

Winchester hopped up on the trunk for his turn at being 'seen to', and Lindsey liked the way he let himself be touched. He wasn't vulnerable, but still more open than he'd been for the whole of their strange acquaintance. Maybe in his world, near death accompanied by sex brought people closer together. It was an indication of exactly how badly Lindsey wanted to fit into someone's definition of 'acceptable,' that he was quick to accept that reasoning.

He didn't need validation from everyone he was attracted to, but that had never stopped him from looking for it. He'd sensed a little of the same from Winchester; the way he handled himself and the job was self-contained, but there were instances when the presence of another person made it easier, and the way Winchester compensated gave away the hole in his armor. Under all the attitude and rebellion, he wanted to be needed. to be in good company. After this glimpse into what made his days cycle into each other, Lindsey thought that he understood and could even learn how to own a space of that journey.

Once Lindsey was satisfied with the job he'd done on Winchester's face, he tapped his cheek playfully just to get a shake of his head and a muttered 'no touchie feelie crap,' and 'you're showing your girlish ways, Lindsey.' That called for around of shadow boxing and insults.

All of his delaying tactics boiled down to him not wanting it to be time to head out because that would mean they were driving back to where his truck was parked. Then he'd be on his way again, but in the opposite direction of the only person since L.A. who had been able to see where he was coming from and who thought he should still go forward. He'd been trained to believe that he could do whatever he wanted, as long as it was within the unwritten rules, but in the end, nobody paid attention to what they claimed mattered. Removed from that status quo, people lived by different rules, but there were codes to be found, and this one, Lindsey found agreeable. He didn't want to be the last one to walk away from anything, so he cleared his throat with unwarranted force and rocked back on his heels.

"Guess we'd better get me back to my truck." He added, knowing he was fishing and not very well, "You've probably got another job to get started on." It was so hard to get a point across when his first instinct was to say the right thing, and hope it was what someone else wanted to hear.

Winchester's expression underwent one of those minute shifts where its importance varied directly with its subtlety. So much of the reserve that kept him from being easy to read could be peeled away under the force of emotion, and by this time Lindsey knew to pay attention to what he was doing, and not just his words.

"You busy?"

"I don't have anything that can't wait," Lindsey offered, feeling just as if he was waiting for a knife, but didn't know whether he could get the blade or the hilt.

"Alright." Winchester nodded to himself, looked around them to confirm that all of the equipment had been gathered and stored, and took out his phone and pressed button, made a face, and motioned for Lindsey to step closer as he pulled a pen out of his pocket. Gripping the cap between his teeth, he used Lindsey's bare arm as a writing surface and scrawled four numbers on his skin.

"Okay, let's head out," he said, as if he'd done Lindsey a favor and explained himself all at once, and moved to the driver's side, sliding into the car.

"Hey, Winchester," Lindsey said, turning his arm over to stare at the digits written there, "what the hell?"

"Get in man, and write those down on something." He added, seeing Lindsey's frown," that's where we're going, it's another job." Predictably, he turned the radio dial up past a reasonable volume, and said over the rumble of drums, "And 'Winchester's' my Dad, I've got a name."

"Dean," Lindsey said agreeably, "turn that shit down, and find me a map written after 1800."

Ignoring him with flair, Dean spun the wheel and set them off toward the freeway, hands pounding the wheel in time with the beat, and Lindsey held up a map to the open window, finding their next destination.

Outside the window, the sky wasn't black so much as bruise-purple and cloudy, and Lindsey reflected that even darkness could announce a break in the clouds.


End file.
